Learning from Booba Barnes - Greenville, MS
What would you say if I asked you the following question: How would you like to go to a town in Mississippi that has a reputation for being 'rough'; then go to a part of that town that the even the locals call 'rough'; then go to a street in that part of town the locals say is so dangerous that no lawbiding citizen has any business being in; then enter a notorious nightclub on that dangerous street in that rough part of town just to hear a bluesman play in a juke joint? Whaddya say?
I personally said yes. As I recall, I think I may have actually said 'What the hell, sounds like fun.'
This was how I came to meet Roosevelt 'Booba' Barnes, electric guitarist, band leader and owner of 'The Playboy Club' on Nelson Street in Greenville Mississippi.
As I drove up Nelson street I couldn't help but notice numerous burned out buildings, old faded posters crudely tacked up on plywood storefronts and rough looking men leaning against broken down cars parked along the curb. The 'Playboy Club' was completely unrecognizable from the street. Just an open doorway in between two sheets of plywood and wire mesh which covered what used to be a glass storefront. I pulled my car into a parking lot across the club and gingerly walked across the street. In my car at the time were 3 very frightend guitar students who did not want to leave the safety of a locked automobile.
As I got closer a man in a suit who was standing on the sidewalk extended his hand out to me yelling 'My man, it's good to see you. I've been expecting you.' This was Booba Barnes who to my knowledge had no idea I was coming to visit him. I suspect this was just Booba's way of saying 'howdy.'
After retrieving my students we all walked into the Playboy Club. The 'club' was a long, narrow store which had a bare cement floor, exposed cement walls and a high ceiliing with a crumbling, cracked design from the 30's. The furnishings consisted of mix and match patio chairs and tables haphazardly scattered about. On the right side of the club was the 'bar', which was nothing more than a long piece of wood held up on either side by milk crates and cement blocks. At the far end of the club against the wall was the 'bandstand.'
Going to the bathroom meant that you had to get up on the left side of the stage, walk right past the drummer and slip behind a narrow opening in a sheet of plywood. I have a fond memory of sitting on the bowl as the stage floorboard vibrated underneath my feet to the pounding of the bass drum.
I personally said yes. As I recall, I think I may have actually said 'What the hell, sounds like fun.'
This was how I came to meet Roosevelt 'Booba' Barnes, electric guitarist, band leader and owner of 'The Playboy Club' on Nelson Street in Greenville Mississippi.
As I drove up Nelson street I couldn't help but notice numerous burned out buildings, old faded posters crudely tacked up on plywood storefronts and rough looking men leaning against broken down cars parked along the curb. The 'Playboy Club' was completely unrecognizable from the street. Just an open doorway in between two sheets of plywood and wire mesh which covered what used to be a glass storefront. I pulled my car into a parking lot across the club and gingerly walked across the street. In my car at the time were 3 very frightend guitar students who did not want to leave the safety of a locked automobile.
As I got closer a man in a suit who was standing on the sidewalk extended his hand out to me yelling 'My man, it's good to see you. I've been expecting you.' This was Booba Barnes who to my knowledge had no idea I was coming to visit him. I suspect this was just Booba's way of saying 'howdy.'
After retrieving my students we all walked into the Playboy Club. The 'club' was a long, narrow store which had a bare cement floor, exposed cement walls and a high ceiliing with a crumbling, cracked design from the 30's. The furnishings consisted of mix and match patio chairs and tables haphazardly scattered about. On the right side of the club was the 'bar', which was nothing more than a long piece of wood held up on either side by milk crates and cement blocks. At the far end of the club against the wall was the 'bandstand.'
Going to the bathroom meant that you had to get up on the left side of the stage, walk right past the drummer and slip behind a narrow opening in a sheet of plywood. I have a fond memory of sitting on the bowl as the stage floorboard vibrated underneath my feet to the pounding of the bass drum.
Booba proved to be the consumate showman. Yelling, shouting, panting,
gyrating and dancing from the stage, he would soon whip the audience
into a frenzy. At the height of his playing, Booba would leap off the
stage and play the guiar with his teeth among the dancers on the floor.
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Although you can't make it out from this photo, tucked in between Booba's shirt and pants against his back is a pistol which he kept on him at all times. How do I know this? At one point Booba took a break and his wife who was tending bar at the time went up and took her turn to sing with the band. This allowed Booba to man the bar. It was at this time that some patron who had a tad too much to drink came over to the table where my students and I were sitting and decided to bother my friend Dean for money. Booba took one look at what was going on and immediately charged over to our table, brandishing his pistol as he approached. Within seconds the poor drunken patron was being escorted out the door by Booba who held the patron's collar with one hand while keeping the pistol pointed at his head with the other. Now that's a bouncer who means business.
Booba came over to the table and apologized for the patron's behavior. We all got to talking when one of my students told Booba I played guitar too. Without a second's hesitation Booba asked if I would like to take the stage and play his guitar. I said of course, I'd be honored. Besides, who would argue with a man with a pistol?
I couldn't help but ask if I could sit in with his band:
